


asymptotic

by aureahlin



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Mythology References, Safehouses, Sharing a Bed, Stargazing, pls theyre so stupid i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureahlin/pseuds/aureahlin
Summary: "So, Dream, what brings you all the way up here?""Would you execute me if I said it's because you looked lonely?"or: George meets a man with eyes as bright as stars, constellations littering his skin, and it all goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 189





	asymptotic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qekyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qekyo/gifts).



> losing my fucking shit all the time HI IM NEW special thanks to ness and vrea and scoot and ryan and not smellen because i hate them <3
> 
> pretend i wrote the title as a metaphor and not because i am a giant nerdjdskfhskjghkjsdh
> 
> obligatory disclaimer ! please don't send this to any cc's :] this is using their online personas and _not_ their actual irl selves :] that being said pls be nice i lov u

George was bored out of his mind.

Standing in one corner, flute of champagne in hand, surrounded by people he couldn't care less about, feeling the most uncomfortable he's been in years and  _ bored _ out of his mind.

It wasn't necessarily the fault of anyone around him, not really. With all their flaunted wealth and gaudy jewelry and sickly sweet poison compliments handled with just enough poise and precision to pass as sincerity. No, if this was his first gala he'd be stunned out of his mind, what with all the places to see and people to study. But that time had long since passed, and George was here, listening to the same people, with the same food, with the same poisoned honey-soaked words and it was  _ boring _ .

Being a part of the Emperor's Cabinet had its perks, of course. He wouldn't willingly subject himself to such mind-numbingly boring events without them. And, well, if the price of having that power was a couple gaudy galas then so be it.

He adjusted his mask, a simple blue velvet piece, adorned with the smallest of diamonds that made him look as though he'd been marked by the night sky itself. 

As he looked through the crowd from his perch by the balcony, he noticed a stray blond in the glittering crowd. The stranger caught his eye with something between a smirk and a half-smile and made his way towards him. And George could not be more interested if he tried. As the stranger made his way up the stairs, He couldn't help but notice the way the stranger held himself was slightly different in comparison to the rest of the hall. George prided himself on his ability to read people, it being one of the reasons why he's one of the most valued members of the cabinet. He'd been able to call a desperate politician's bluff from a mile away without breaking a single sweat, what others would deem small and insignificant, George found, were the most important details of all.

The stranger walked proudly enough to convince those around him that he belonged there but George couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't. 

George lost himself in his thoughts when he was suddenly pulled from the bright, incomprehensible lights, and faced with the very same stranger he'd been studying.

"George Nolfound?" 

"You're not from around here, are you?

The blond stranger smiled, and up-close George could just barely see the constellations of freckles waiting to be discovered, hidden just under an elegant emerald green mask. 

"And what if I wasn't?" 

George smiled, "Well then, I believe it's my business to ask, is it not?"

The stranger laughed at that, a joyous, low chuckle that George thought he'd might love to hear again.

"Dream," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand to shake. "I’ve been invited."

"Invited, are you? Dream, huh?"  _ Dream _ . George tried tentatively. He learned he quite liked the way the other man’s name rolled off his tongue. 

"So, Dream, what brings you all the way up here?"

"Would you execute me if I said it's because you looked lonely?" 

George grinned at that, "On any other night I might have, but you're the most interesting thing to happen in the past few hours. I might keep you around a bit longer."

Dream laughed again at that, taking a sip of the champagne in his hand, the bubbles whizzing through the liquid like shooting stars, whirling and spiraling upwards. “Well then, I guess I have to make the best of our limited time together.”

And George smiled, a small, secretive and challenging. “Maybe so.”

* * *

Dream was seated by the bar at another lackluster party, watching as the gleaming crowd moved and mingled like makeshift stars. The lights a measure too bright for his own eyes, he turned his gaze over to the rest of the bar. 

What would George do, if he was here? He wondered. 

George. God, it had only been a few months since they’d first met, yet it felt like they'd known each other for eons. 

_ He missed him, George.  _

The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he unconsciously moved to hide his face when he laughed, and in those moments Dream wanted nothing more than to move his hands away and see him fully, unabashedly happy. 

Sometimes, in the darkest and most private time of night, Dream would entertain the thought of what they could be together, how George's face would flush a deep carmine red at his smallest attempts at flirting, his delighted little laugh when he gets something right. His bright caramel brown eyes hiding secrets upon secrets and Dream wished so deeply to be the one who uncovered them. 

Nights like those, Dream would want nothing more than to be with George. To know him, all of him, how he kissed, how he loved, he wanted to know everything about him and it killed him. Nights like those were spent awake, the quiet early hours of the morning spent thinking about George.

He doesn't sleep at all those nights.

-

Dream moved to order another drink when he’d overheard a conversation to his right. Looking over he'd noticed the very man he'd been thinking about trapped in a conversation he very clearly was not keen on having.

"-just your number." Words slurred, spilling from the man's mouth like freezing water, sharp and unwelcome.

The man reeked of alcohol, clearly intoxicated, and had been for a while. Dream looked over and caught George's eye, seeing the discomfort hidden under the thin sheet of feigned calm. He felt himself walk through the bar, making his way to the pair, he sees himself in the reflection of the mirroring walls of the bar. 

“Look, sir,” George started, clearly irritated. “In the most respectful way possible, I’m not-”

“Hey, darling? Is he bothering you?” He heard himself say, wrapping his arm around George’s waist. “Let’s go, I have a table for us over there.” He said, guiding George away to the other side of the bar. 

“Yeah, yeah,” He’d heard George reply, dazed and slightly winded.

On the other side of the bar, Dream sat George down and immediately ordered them another round of drinks.

_ What the FUCK was that Dream, Dream he could’ve handled it on his own Dream you didn’t need to step in god you’re such an idiot he probably hates you for it oh god-  _

“Hey,” George catches his attention and stumbles on his words, “thanks, for saving me back there, Dream. I really appreciate it.” Dream looked over at George, seeing his small figure curled up in slight embarrassment, cheeks stained crimson. 

“It’s no problem, really, George.” Dream reassured, hoping he didn’t hear the slightest crack in his voice, “I don’t mind being your fake boyfriend every once in a while.” He mused, smiling slightly, hoping, praying, George couldn’t see the slight heat in his cheeks saying the word ‘boyfriend’.

“A fake boyfriend, huh?” George asked, amused. “I don’t mind, Dream,” he laughed, seeing the mortification on the other man’s face. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” George said, looking towards the rest of the bar, a slight smile on his face.

“A romantic alibi?” Dream teases, internally begging himself to pull it together. The breakdown can happen later. “Sounds a bit cliche, doesn’t it?”

“It’s only cliche if you fall in love with me, Dream.” George smiles.

_ God if only you knew. _

“I guess so,” Dream replies, hoping George doesn’t hear the quiet depths of yearning hidden under his words. 

He orders another round, the subject is dropped, replaced by quiet inside jokes and even quieter insults of the people around them. Dream thinks this a blessing, a small distraction from the growing problem that is  _ George _ .

He isn’t a stranger to the feelings sprouting in his heart, rooted in the deepest depths of him. Loving has always been such an integral part of his very being, he couldn’t, wouldn’t imagine a world without his love and loss. He’s never regretted the love that came pouring from his heart in troves. 

So why was he shying away now?

He knew George was different, he knew it that day on the balcony and he knew it every day after. He knew it whenever he saw him smile, and he knew it in the way he talked, slightly accented and adorable and so uniquely  _ him _ . He knew it in his eyes and he knew it when he decided he’d do anything for him to stay.

He didn’t want George to leave.

* * *

“There is a traitor to the President.”

George felt himself stiffen slightly at Quackity's words. Of course, there was a traitor. You'd be a fool to think Schlatt's reign was anything less than tyrannical in the most insidious ways. 

“And why exactly are you telling me this?”

“George,” Quackity takes in a breath, “George I want you to join us.”

George froze, his breath suddenly shallow, almost bated.

“What? You?” He sputtered, trying to make sense of what just happened. “You're the traitor?”

Quackity nodded, tense, mouth pulled in a tight line. “Yes. I am. Don't tell me you condone what's going on here, Geor-”

“I'll do it.”

George doesn't look up from the ground as he says, “I'll be the traitor with you.”

George is tired. He is tired and he agrees.

In that darkened room a deal is made, plans formulated, and there is an electricity in the air that wasn't there before. 

There’s work to be done.

-

Dream is in the courtyard when George finds him.

“Hello, romantic alibi.” George smiles as Dream looks up at him.

“You’re still on about that, George?” Dream laughs slightly, and George thinks he’d love to hear his name from Dream’s lips until the end of time.

“Would it be such a stretch if I told you I liked it, Dream?” George teases, drawing out his name. He decided long ago that he’d loved the way Dream’s name sounded in his mouth, comfortable with the occasional effervescence from his rapidly beating heart, and with that he decided he’d like to say the other man’s name as much as he can. 

He hopes Dream didn’t notice the quiet, screaming fondness and longing hidden under his words.

Dream laughs at that, looking back to the rest of the courtyard. “Maybe, maybe not.” He says dismissively, and George doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened. 

He elects to ignore it altogether.

“What brings you out here?” Dream says, tilting his head back towards him. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, actually. I guess I just,” he paused, looking back out at the courtyard. “I guess I just needed some fresh air.”

Dream hums in acknowledgment, leaving both of them in a mutual, oddly companionable silence. 

“Do you want to go stargazing?” Dream says, after a pause.

“Do I- What?” George looks at him, slightly stunned. “Stargazing?” He manages, “now?”

Dream shrugs, “Yeah, why not?”

“Sure, alright.” George scoffs, reaching his hand out to the other man, “lead the way.”

Dream smiles, and George decides he’d do anything to make Dream smile as brightly as that again, warm and bright and beaming and so, so uniquely  _ Dream _ .

_ He’s like sunshine _ , George thinks as Dream takes his hand.  _ I’ve fallen in love with the sun _ .

-

“That’s Canopus.” Dream says, pointing at one of the stars in the sky. “Outshone only by Sirius, and known to the ancient Polynesians as ‘He-who-stands-alone’.” 

“Really, now?” George smiles slightly, not at all thinking about how easy it would be to lean on Dream’s shoulder, not at all wishing he could be closer and farther away at the same time. 

“Yeah.” Dream says simply, he’s sitting close enough that they don’t touch, and George can’t help but yearn for more every single time. “Did you know there’s a myth by the same name? I don’t think it’s connected to the star though, hemispheres and all that.”

“Tell me.” George looks at Dream and thinks he could listen to him talk for hours. 

Dream smiles at that, a smaller, slighter smile and George feels himself fall all over again. “Of course, darling.”

“Darling?” George teases, dutifully ignoring the way the word blooms flowing gardenias across his chest.

“You get to stick with 'romantic alibi', I get to stick to darling.” Dream says, oblivious to the feelings hidden in George’s chest.

“Romantic alibi is too long, don’t you think?”

Dream hums in agreement at that, “What do you prefer, then?”

George thinks for a minute. “Sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Alright then,” Dream smiles, daring and a little lopsided, “darling.”

George falls all over again. 

* * *

George is in the forests surrounding the capital. 

Broken, bruised, injured but  _ alive _ . 

He rested against a tree, slowly catching his breath and surveying his wounds. 

“Well, it could be worse.” He muttered to himself, counting the cuts and gashes littered over his arms and legs. Hissing in pain when he found a particularly deep gash on his leg. 

_ Probably from some broken low hanging debris _ , he thought. Removing his blazer, he tied it around his injured leg, wishing it would work, slowing down his blood flow enough to get to safety. He got up again, before doubling over in pain, falling to his knees. The gash on his leg radiating pain in pulses and waves.

The explosion took the whole White House with it.

George was, luckily enough, far enough away that he wasn’t fatally affected. 

_ Shit, Dream _ . George suddenly realized, where had he gone? 

-

_ “Hey, George.” Dream said, catching his attention, golden honey-drenched syllables dripping from his lips and in that moment George wanted nothing more than to kiss him. _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Meet me by the courtyard at midnight.” _

_ It’s more a demand than a question, authoritative and steady and George finds himself nodding almost immediately. _

_ It’s pathetic, really, how willing he is to follow the other man. He’s bewitched and enamored and enthralled and everything in between and he wouldn’t have it any other way. _

_ “Of course, Dream.” He smiles a tragic and loving and disastrous longing smile. _

_ I would do anything for you, he doesn’t say. _

_ I’ve sworn you off so many times. I’ve told myself time and time again to stop thinking of you, that you shouldn’t be in my mind as much as you are. But daydreams of you haunt me. I’m addicted to you and I can never get enough, he doesn’t say. _

_ I love you, he doesn’t say. _

-

Dream finds him minutes later.

“George?” Dream heard himself say, unsure if what he was seeing was real or a delusion brought on by desperation and hopeful pain. 

George looked up and Dream could see the smallest cuts on his face, moving as he smiled, “Hey, Dream.”

“George, oh, god, George.” Dream said, falling to his knees, moving closer as if shielding him from the rest of the world, unable to stop the words spilling from his lips. “I thought you were dead.” Desperation and fear tugging at his very core, he pulls him ever closer.

“You can’t be rid of me that easily.” George managed, the pain and exhaustion working their way into his words. “I’m not leaving you without saying goodbye.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” Dream said, smiling slightly amidst the pain, “You overdramatic loser it’s a leg wound.” He said, moving to carry George, voice dripping in fondness and adoration that he hoped George wouldn’t notice. 

“I’m dying, Dream.” George sighed dramatically, falling on his side, closer to Dream.

Dream hoped and prayed and begged George couldn’t hear his heart, just barely restrained in the desperate cage he built, hiding his feelings under layers and layers of secret smiles and longing glances. 

“Really now?” Dream teased, carrying George to safety. “What, you want me to kiss it better?”

And George, delirious from the mix of exhaustion and adrenaline, high off of seeing Dream alive again after running so long to find him, says “Yes.” in the most vulnerable and earnest voice he can imagine.

And Dream,

Dream is only human.

“You’re such an idiot.” He says, looking away from George, his heart on the verge of bursting into flames. Dangerous and threatening and so, so tempting.

_ I know you don't love me, you can’t, but I adore you anyway.  _ He wants to say, _ I love you, I love you, I love you. I would go to the ends of the earth if you’d only asked _ . 

He doesn’t say anything more.

* * *

George passes out halfway to the safehouse. 

He wakes up thirty-six hours and twelve minutes later. Dream would know. 

He doesn’t sleep for any of those hours, his time spent counting the minutes, pacing through the rooms, the grounds, fiddling with whatever he can to keep busy. To keep his mind far, far away from George.

Something awoke in him that day—the night of the gala—swept along like an avalanche, Dream had fallen for him. As if struck by a pistol shot. Sudden, shocking, and irreversible.

The first hours were spent fussing over George. Checking every minute of every hour that even the most infinitesimal details were in order. 

_ I would sing you your favorite songs, show you my heart and teach you to love the world as your own. I would spend all my hours on you, I would love you, and for as long as you would have me I would love and love and love you. _

He dragged himself out a few hours after, willing himself to get some fresh air with every intention of keeping his mind off of the man laying in his makeshift bed, unconscious and weak but  _ stable _ .

Stable, stable, stable. It’s the only information he has and it kills him. He wants-  _ needs _ to know he’s okay, he’s here.

‘ _ What if he doesn’t remember me? _ ’ The thought comes unprompted and unwelcomed.

He doesn’t get any sleep that night.

_ I love you that’s all that’s it, the end. You are my everything. You are my heart and my blood, my being, my breath. You are the only one I will ever love. I love you so much.  _

_ I’m terrified. You could finish me with nothing but your eyes and I’m terrified that you will.  _

-

He sleeps in. 

He dreams of a gala, a flute of champagne, a good time, and a man touched by the night sky. 

_ He’s beautiful _ , he thinks. Catching his eye from across the room, he smiles and makes his way towards him.

He wakes up, the taste of the fizzing champagne lingering in his mouth, the lights in the back of his mind, and a name on the tip of his tongue.

_ George. _

Dream groans into his arm, was it that late already? The golden rays spilling from his open blinds, bathing his room in a soft orange glow. He curls back into his messed sheets, chasing the incomprehensible, comfortable, fading afterimages of memories long past. 

He gets up.

He’s making breakfast when he hears it, the smallest, just barely perceptible sound of rustling fabric. 

“Dream?” George asks, voice hoarse from disuse, sleepily rubbing at his tired eyes, body draped in his sheets. The entire atmosphere oozes domesticity and Dream thinks he might combust if he thought about it any longer. “Is that you? How long have I been out?”

Dream doesn’t reply immediately, he can’t, mind still reeling from George’s sudden appearance.

“Thirty-six hours.” He says after a moment passes. “You’ve been out for thirty-six hours.”

There’s a moment of silence after that, tense and filled to the brim with unspoken questions.

“Your sheets are so scratchy.” George finally says, breaking the silence.

“What?” Dream laughs, the absurdity of the situation finally dawning upon him. “George, you wake up from what was basically a thirty-six-hour coma, after a planned bombing of the Presidential Estate, which you not only knew about but also aided in, and the first thing you say waking up is ‘Your sheets are so scratchy’?”

Dream doesn’t think about how the first word George said was his name.

He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s afraid of what could happen if he does.

“Well, alright, okay,” George sputters incoherently in an attempt to defend himself. “Listen Dream,” he starts, and Dream doesn’t at all think about how endearing he is. “When you wake up those really aren’t the first things on your mind alright. Dream.” George stops, staring exasperatedly at Dream trying desperately to hide his growing smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dream smiles in agreement, turning his attention back on his sizzling breakfast. “You can go sit over on the dining table, I’m just finishing up.” 

George hums in agreement, and a moment later they’re seated opposite each other, the small expanse of the dining table feel like miles, blocked by questions and statements and confessions left unsaid.

“Where are we, anyway?” George breaks the silence again, and Dream silently thanks whichever gods are watching for George’s curiosity.

“We’re at my place, a few miles past the city limits. I wanted to come prepared with a safe house in case things went south, y’know?”

“Yeah,” George hummed, looking around at the space. “I thought everything went well though, why are we here?”

_ I was worried _ . Dream confesses, quietly in the darkest reaches of himself,  _ I was worried and I wanted to stay with you as long as possible _ .

“Extra precaution, y’know, governments and all that.” Dream said, eating another bit of his breakfast, playing with his fingers, hoping George would buy the excuse.

George hums in acknowledgment, going back to his food. There is a silence afterward, and Dream isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.

* * *

“You’re taking the bed by the way.” Dream tells him later that night. George prepares to refuse when Dream stops him, “Look, George,  _ you’re  _ the one who passed out for thirty-six hours, you take the bed.” He says, George meeting a steady, determined gaze. “I’ll be fine, Georgie.”

And  _ fuck _ , if George doesn’t want to hear the nickname from Dream again.

“No, okay, look, listen, Dream.” George looks at him, defiant and determined. “Your bed with your ridiculously scratchy sheets-”

“They’re not.” Dream protests.

“They are.” He says pointedly, “Anyway, your bed with your scratchy sheets is big enough for the both of us.”

Dream gapes at him, and for a moment George thinks he’s done something horribly wrong.

“Okay then.” Dream looks at him and George doesn’t know if he’s imagining the slight tint to his cheeks. 

He decides, he doesn’t want to know. 

_ He doesn’t love you back, George. Not in that way.  _ He reminds himself,  _ He can’t love you, you are Icarus and he is the sun and you are so, so doomed. _

* * *

“Dream?” George whispered in the dead of night, “Are you there?” 

He waits, a long and torturous moment for a response. Something, anything to show the other man was anything but sound asleep.

“Did you know, Dream? About the explosion?” he asked the still figure, voice quiet and rasping. 

_ Dream Dream Dream, his name plays like a mantra in George’s heart, rhythmic, melodic, maddening, terrifying, deafening, and delicately sweet. _

_ ‘What do you know?’ He wants to ask, “why did you save me?” _

_ Who am I to you, Dream? _

“I think I love you.” George whispers after a moment, ghosting his fingers over Dream’s sleeping form, close but never close enough. “I love your slight smiles and I love the way you talk about something you love. I love your laugh and I love your stupid scratchy sheets and I love everything that makes you  _ you _ .” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, “I’d love you through thick and thin, I think. I’d love you for as long as you’d have me.”

“I can’t even,” he cuts himself off with a short sigh, “I can’t bring myself to say this to you, awake, out loud, but. I love you, Dream. I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do. You're reckless in the best way. You feel like a rollercoaster dragging me all sorts of directions, twisting and turning and so so disorientating and you make me feel the safest I’ve ever felt in a while.”

George cuts himself off with a choked sob,  _ when had he started crying? _

“It aches, you know? When I’m not with you. There’s this dull sort of pain that only leaves when you’re there and it’s unfair how happy you make me. I want to think I would be happy to just,” he pauses, thinking, “I want to think I would be happy to just be here, with you, in your company.”

“I can’t though,” He admits, if only to himself. “I can’t bring myself to simply be happy with where we are right now. I think--I think I’ll always be looking for more, with you.”

“Dream I want to get to know you,  _ all  _ of you.” He rushes out, afraid of what would happen if he slowed, “I want to know how you like your coffee in the morning and I want to know your deepest fears. I’ll take as much as you’ll give me and I’ll cherish every piece of information I have.”

“I want to make you so happy it hurts, Dream.” he says, so quietly he thinks he might not have said it at all. “I would give you the universe if you’d only asked.”

He looks at Dream again, still aside from the slow rise and fall of his breath and he can’t help but think how beautiful he looks in that moment, face bathed in the gentle moonlight he looks captivating. 

He dares to lean in closer, lips ghosting over his, a hair’s breadth away. 

_ Too close but never close enough.  _

It’s silent. George doesn’t know to be thankful or heartbroken.

_ I want to be as close as I can, I want to have as much as I can, as much as you can give me.  _

He turns around, holding his pillow closer and wishing it was the man beside him. 

_ I’m going to burn. I’m going to crash and burn and it’ll be your fault and I would let you. _

-

George watches Dream closely the next day, looking, finding, any sign that the other man had heard his confession that night.

Dream doesn’t treat him any differently, doesn’t show any sign he’d heard George’s desperate pining words spilling from his lips like an overflowing dam. 

George doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated.

* * *

George wakes up to an empty bed, the golden glow of sunlight streaming in through the half-opened blinds.

It's been two days since his midnight confession, since he laid himself bare and vulnerable under the safety of the late-night moon. 

“-ow? The deal is done.” 

George hears the other man pacing outside the corridor, footsteps swift and distinctive, golden honey syllables just barely heard through the crack in the door.

“He’s with me, Wilbur. He won’t be of harm to anyone. He’s of no use anymore.”

_ What? _

“No. We aren’t meeting. That’s it, end of story.”

He can barely hear Dream over the sound of the blood pumping through his veins, his body moving against his will to open the door.

“Dream?” He hears himself say. The other man stops stiffly, avoiding eye contact. “What are you talking about?”

“George.” Dream breathes slowly, and turns to look directly at him, “Sorry, Wilbur, I’m hanging up-”

“No.” George says, impressed by the steadiness of his voice. Dream freezes in place. “Who were you supposed to meet, Dream?” 

‘ _ Were you using me all this time? _ ’ goes unsaid. Dream hears it anyway.

“Tell them we’re meeting them.” He says sharply, words slicing the air like venom soaked knives. 

“What? George,” Dream scrambles, still disorientated over his sudden appearance. 

“I said,” he repeats, voice sharp and poisonous, “tell them we’re meeting them.” 

Dream shifts his attention to his phone, still on call with Wilbur, “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

-

The car ride is  _ torture _ , with the small confines of the passenger’s seat, being so close to Dream, the words left unsaid hanging in the air.

It’s suffocating.

He looks over at Dream, hoping that the other man will at  _ least _ acknowledge him, give him something to hang onto, something to say it wasn’t all fabricated.

Dream never looks back.

* * *

Dream is going to have a breakdown.

The air in the car is charged with something thick, malicious, and hurting and if Dream thinks about it for another singular moment he is going to crash this car.

Still, laser-focused on the road he’s hyper-aware of George’s eyes on him every now and then, questioning and hurt and  _ hurt _ and Dream can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. He’s scared, terrified, really, of what he might see in those eyes, so he ignores it. Instead opting to funnel all his attention into making sure they don’t  _ accidentally die _ .

His knuckles are alabaster white when he stops the car, breath stuck in his throat and he feels like he’s drowning. 

“We’re here,” he says looking straight at the road, doing everything he can to avoid the gaze of the man beside him, digging and tearing into his skin.

“Right.” George says after a moment, stepping out of the now opened car door. “I’ll see you when I see you.” he hears him say, bitter and cold and Dream didn’t think seven words in the span of two seconds could hurt so much.

“See you,” Dream says too late, hands glued to the wheel and eyes trained on his retreating form.

_ See you, when I see you.  _

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @aureahlin :]


End file.
